The Reunion

by Michelle E Lowe

  He sighed. “A woman named Waves of Strength did that.”

  “Why?”

  “Some years ago, her husband, Sea Wind, chief to a crew of Sea Warriors, attacked a transport ship I was being held on. They had mistaken it for a slave ship. During the siege, I accidentally . . .” He cleared his throat, “. . . shot Waves in the arse.”

  “You shot her in the ass?” Taisia said with surprise.

  “Aye. She got her revenge by branding me with this. She’s not the first woman to leave a permanent mark on me,” he added, referring to his knife scar.

  “Is that so?” Taisia opened the shirt more for a better look. “I wonder what the figure eight means.”

  “Waves of Strength said the symbol is used to mark their horses back home. Could’ve been worse, I reckon.”

  “My great grandparents were saved by Sea Warriors and brought to England when they were young. They later migrated to Russia.”

  He looked at her. Aside from them saving his arse in the past, he now had another reason to be grateful for the Sea Warriors, for if it weren’t for those who had rescued Taisia’s ancestors from those bloody slave-hoarding yanks, she might have never existed.

  “And you are friends with the Sea Warriors?” she asked.

  “Some. The chief was going to take me away to the Hawaiian Islands in the Pacific, but I missed the ship.”

  “I’m glad you did.” She kissed him and moved her hand up to his stater coin. “Why do you wear this?”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Try me,” she exhorted.

  “All right. I stole it from a vampire. The coin is one of the thirty pieces of silver.”

  Taisia looked at him in the way he knew she would—like he was mad.

  “It’s true! I wear it to protect myself from the vampire wanting my blood.”

  “This vampire you stole from is after you?”

  “Aye, but he can’t touch me with this on.”

  Taisia studied the coin before letting it drop.

  “What about this scar?” she asked, touching his throat.

  Pierce had tried to keep the unsightly thing covered, but, of course, she’d seen it during their lovemaking. It mattered not, for he needed to explain it to her at some point anyway.

  “My brother did that to me.”

  She rose from him with a look of shock on her face. “Joaquin?”

  He nodded. “When I was sixteen. We got into an argument and he took a blade to me. I managed to find a physician who patched me up. As soon as I healed, I traveled to Germany.”

  “And you saw Joaquin recently? How did that go?”

  He let out a deep, crestfallen sigh. “It wasn’t exactly a warm reunion.”

  Taisia lightly touched the scar again. “I cannot believe it. When your parents spoke of you and him, they told me you two were inseparable, and that he always watched over you.”

  “He did. That’s why . . .”

  He stopped and recalled the strange words Joaquin had said at the church while holding a knife to Pierce’s neck for the second time.

  I can’t control it sometimes.

  Something had Joaquin. Even Indigo Peachtree recognized it. Whatever was happening to him was a complete and utter mystery.

  “That’s why . . . what?” Taisia pressed, snapping his thread of thought.

  “Sorry? Oh. Nothing.”

  She tilted her head as if waiting to hear more. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell her; he just couldn’t exactly explain it without sounding as if he’d gone ’round the bend. Besides, after today, he felt he could pass on any more weirdness or talk of bizarre occurrences.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as she unbuckled his gun belt.

  “Are you too tired?” she asked, slipping the strap through the buckle.

  Realizing her intentions, he quickly shook his head.

  They undressed and made love in the cool night, and long after the fire had died.

  * * *

  Christopher Ainsworth took his usual route to the railway station. He had done so every morning since arriving in Bunschoten. The first correspondence he received had been a few days ago, after Landcross located the second clue in some old abandoned house.

  Christopher had to admit, he was very surprised to learn that the Frenchman, Gabriel Fey, had been Britain’s most wanted fugitive. He had been completely fooled by the young man’s performance. It mattered not. What concerned him most was the twenty thousand, which greatly surpassed the reward on Landcross. To keep the maniac, Swansea, from being tempted to move in on the outlaw too soon, he had promised him Landcross, as well as his cut of the inheritance. His generosity was given easily, for he had plans of his own for Swansea once the inheritance was discovered. A bullet to the back of the head and a shallow grave would suffice.

  It had been days since he had last heard anything, and his anxiousness was growing. At the station, he requested to speak to the telegraph operator.

  “Yes. A message has come in for you,” the operator answered, leading Christopher to the backroom.

  Inside the telegraph room, he handed the operator some bribe money. It guaranteed their conversations would remain a secret. The unwelcomed middleman smiled as he handed him the deciphered Morse code. “Your man has run into some trouble, it seems.”

  Christopher unfolded the note and read. His face burned at the latest report. Then the last sentence lifted his mood.

  To Amsterdam. Injured badly. Lost my hand. Meet me at this address.

  Despite Swansea losing his hand, he remained in play, which was excellent news for Christopher, who still needed him—for the time being.

  * * *

  It surprised Pierce when he woke early after he and Taisia had been at it practically the entire night. While Taisia slept, Pierce searched through the hunter’s saddlebag. He found money, a knife, and maps. He came across nothing that gave him any inkling of who exactly the bastard was. He reckoned it mattered not. The man was most likely dead by now and no longer a threat to him or Taisia. The money was a pleasant find. It would grant them a room as they traveled west, and plenty of meals along the way.

  He ventured out into the woods, breathing in the crisp air of the new day. He hoped to meet the woodsman who had saved him. Pierce was not ignorant. He had realized almost instantly that the woodsman was of the elf folk—a forest elf, to be exact. He wondered how François had discovered these special woods. Pierce knew little about his Uncle François, but the man didn’t strike Pierce as the sort who, after denouncing his nomadic family, would be in league with the elf people. Perhaps François had visited the forest before with the old troupe.

  Pierce stopped on a short hillside which led up to more forest ahead. He stood amongst the tall grass and bright flowers, searching. The sun shone brightly, setting the highlights in his hair aglow. He breathed in deeply.

  “If you’re out there,” Pierce called out. “If you can hear me—thank you.”

  He waited for some kind of response. He received none, but felt eyes on him.

  Pierce returned to camp and went over to Taisia, who was sleeping peacefully and completely naked under the blanket. He crouched down and admired her. The love he felt for her could fill an ocean. He would have taken Tai as his wife right then if she so wished it. Her beauty had snared his attention, but it was her wit, charm, and bravery which drew him to her the most. Pierce had fallen in love before, but not as intensely as this, and when learning she felt the same way, it had nearly killed him with utter joy.

  He leaned over and kissed her lips, and kept kissing her until she stirred.

  “Morning,” he whispered.

  “Dobroye utro,” she responded with a tired smile.

  “We should get moving if we’re to reach Amsterdam by tomorrow evening.”

  She knitted her eyebrows together. “Amsterdam?”

  He rose. “Aye. The clue read: ‘In the capital, water runs underneath the Blue.’”

  “The blue? Do
es he mean the sky?”

  “The word ‘Blue’ was capitalized,” he explained, going over to the smoldering ashes of their fire. “I’m thinking it’s part of a name.”

  Taisia thought a moment. “Water runs underneath. It sounds like a bridge.”

  Pierce kicked dirt over some hot coals. “Exactly. There’s a bridge called Blauwbrug, which means Blue Bridge.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve been to Amsterdam before. Also, the clue wasn’t that cryptic.” He snorted. “It didn’t even bloody rhyme.”

  He looked up as Taisia stood and stretched out her naked body. Pierce lost himself in her form. She reached her arms over her head, hands clasped together, pulling all her muscles tight. The sunlight shimmered on her dark skin as it shimmers on water, her nipples hard from the chill in the air. She arched an eyebrow seductively at him, a playful grin crossing her face.

  “Uh, maybe we can stay a bit longer,” he said.

  After their lovemaking, they mounted up and headed north. They rode for a long while, stopping at a river to wash up. They pushed on, and eventually, the forest lost its glossy radiance. Everything looked normal, leaving the atmosphere drab by comparison to the forest of the elves.

  A narrow road appeared, and they followed it out of the forest. They traveled all day, stopping at an inn at Laren when evening came. The next morning, after another blissful night of sex—which was just as enjoyable as their first time—they continued their journey. By dusk, they had reached the city limits of Amsterdam.

  The streets were alive! The dark sky was continuously lit up by fireworks bursting overhead, and parades carried on throughout the entire capital. Thousands of people were dressed in animal masks, and they roamed the thoroughfares in celebration. They carried real and artificial flowers and other plant life made of paper and sticks.

  “What’s going on?” Taisia asked.

  “It’s the annual May Festival,” Pierce recalled. “They’re celebrating spring’s arrival. Do you want a mask?”

  She grinned widely at him. “Why not?”

  They came across a shop selling masks. Taisia chose a fallow doe, and Pierce got a wolf. They decided to put their horses up for the night and stroll about the exuberant city. Everywhere, there was motion and excitement. Musicians on the streets played with all sorts of instruments. Performers in costumes juggled and did fire tricks. Pierce and Taisia joined in with a group of people dancing wildly in the street. It had been ages since he had had so much fun.

  Eventually, they reached the Blauwbrug Bridge. He and Taisia walked hand in hand over the ancient overpass, their way guided by the large decorative streetlamps mounted on the ledges.

  “Where do you think it is?” she asked.

  Pierce drank in the smell of the river.

  “Water runs underneath the Blue.” He stepped over to the ledge. “I’m guessing directly under our feet somewhere.”

  They glanced over to where the water cut under three archways between a pair of white sculptures of ship bows protruding from the buttress of the bridge. People riding in boats drifted along the dark water.

  “Which archway would it be hidden under?” Taisia asked.

  “We’ll check here first,” he suggested, pointing to the one directly below them. He turned his wolf face over to her. “Care to take a boat ride, darling?”

  They rented a two-person punt boat, and Pierce stood and paddled them back toward the bridge. Taisia slipped off her doe mask and admired the festive lights surrounding them. Fireworks boomed overhead, and people danced in their wilderness costumes.

  The boat drifted under the left archway of the bridge with only a single lantern mounted on the bow to guide them. They spent a half hour looking before moving to the right side. Pierce steered the boat over and grabbed onto the redbrick wall to steady the small vessel. Taisia untied the light and panned it around. He saw nothing indicating a hiding place. Pierce only hoped they could bypass searching the much wider and heavier trafficked middle archway.

  “Over there,” Taisia said.

  Pierce squinted and spied a yellow painted brick among the long, pallid stones that made up the ship sculpture outside. Taisia gripped the edge of the arch- way to steady the boat as Pierce held the lantern up to the obvious stone. He could clearly see it had been painted. He brought out the knife and wedged it between the bricks.

  “Someone has removed it,” he observed, noticing how easily the concrete crumbled as he scraped the knifepoint along the brick’s edges.

  Using the dagger to pry the brick out, he quickly discovered it had been cut in half. He reached in and instantly felt the leather of a pouch.

  “What is it?” Taisia asked.

  “Money,” he answered, peeking in.

  “Really? No more devices? No little mystery objects?”

  “Nope,” he said, taking out a note also stashed inside the pouch. “‘Golden slumbers kiss your eyes. Smiles await you when you rise. Sleep, pretty baby. Do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby. Recite this to the clerk at Hotel Joubert when you request Room 107.’” Pierce scowled. “That’s downright to the point, eh? Bloody silly saying, too.”

  “Hotel Joubert? Isn’t that the name of your uncle’s hotel?”

  “Aye,” Pierce replied, returning the brick. “This ought to be interesting.”

  “Maybe your grandfather is there waiting.”

  Pierce grabbed the punt pole. “Then it’ll be very interesting, indeed.”

  He guided the boat out from underneath the bridge and directed it down the river.

  * * *

  “There they go,” Christopher muttered, standing beside Swansea on the bridge. “You were right.”

  “The bloody clue wasn’t hard to decipher,” Swansea groaned weakly.

  His dark complexion was pale, and he was unable to stand without leaning against something. The side of his jaw was very swollen, and when he spoke, he sounded as if there was a wad of cloth wedged in his mouth. The physician in Koudhoorn had mended his wound and placed his arm in a sling that kept it elevated and pressed against his chest. He had used what money he had left to pay for a lift to the capital. The stagecoach took longer than riding on a single horse, but it gave Swansea time to rest. When he arrived, Christopher bought him a meal to help build up his strength.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Swansea declared darkly. “I will mutilate them both.”

  “Don’t you even think about moving in prematurely again,” Christopher said, seething. “I’ve spent my life scraping by, and now I have the means to live a decent life. If you cost me this, I swear I shall inform Volker Jäger that you’re still alive.”

  A look of horror came over Swansea’s face. Christopher had never used the psychopath against him before, but he needed to control this angry and anxious barbarian before he regained enough strength to do something rash.

  “I’m sure Jäger hasn’t forgotten about how you double-crossed him,” Christopher added. “Do I make myself clear, Mr. Swansea?”

  The terror subsided enough for his expression to harden angrily.

  “Aye. Crystal,” he grunted.

  Now that he was tamed, Christopher needed to toss him a bone to keep their relationship on an even keel.

  “Our agreement still stands. You will have your share of the inheritance, as well as Landcross. Be patient.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Truth

  “The room has been reserved for over a month,” explained the clerk at the front desk of Hotel Joubert.

  He wore the same deep green military-style uniform with a pocket watch clasped to the shoulder as the clerk who worked the front desk at the other Hotel Joubert that Pierce had stayed in on the Isle of Wight.

  Pierce arched an eyebrow at him. “Eh? By whom?”

  The snooty clerk sighed petulantly at the question. “I’m not at liberty to say, sir. We were instructed to give the key for Room 107 to the person who requested it, and who also knew the lullaby. W
hich is . . . ?”

  The clerk waited, drumming his fingers on the counter while doing so. Pierce rolled his eyes. He felt absolutely stupid saying it in front of other people.

  “‘Golden slumbers kiss your eyes. Smiles await you when you rise. Sleep, pretty baby. Do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby,’” he recited quickly.

  “Very good, sir,” chortled the amused clerk, reaching behind the desk. “Here you are.”

  The clerk brought out an envelope and opened it.

  “Is there a letter inside?” Taisia asked.

  “Sorry, my lady, only the key.” He dropped it into Pierce’s hand, took a lantern, and placed it in front of him. “One-oh-seven is one of our finest rooms. Enjoy.”

  Pierce and Taisia refused the bellhop’s service and left down the corridor, taking with them the lit lantern.

  “Do you think anyone is in there?” Taisia asked when they reached the room number.

  Usually, that sort of inquiry would alarm Pierce. Being the popular fugitive he was, if some tosser was hiding inside a place he was about to enter, it most likely meant danger. However, there was no reason to suspect any foul play. This journey wasn’t meant for him; it had been laid out for his mother by her estranged brother. He had no worries about anybody being in there waiting. Besides, he carried a loaded pistol strapped to his hip, just in case.

  He turned the key in the lock. “One way to find out.”

  Nothing but darkness greeted them inside the room. Once over the threshold, Taisia began lighting other gas-powered lanterns.

  “Pierce,” she called from the water closet. “There’s a bathtub in here!”

  He snorted as he shut the door behind him.

  He drew them both a hot bath. Apparently, the establishment also had the same indoor plumbing and unground boilers as the other Hotel Joubert. They lay together in the tub, allowing their exhaustion to overtake them. After they cleaned up, they got into bed completely naked and fell fast asleep. It felt good to let his guard down for once. In England, where so many aimed to see him dead or thrown in jail, he could never grant himself such liberties.